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Even so, she was horrified to realize that the blackmailer had planted a seed of doubt in her. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She would not let it take root.
The room seemed caught in amber, every person still and silent. Even Peter, who was usually quick to point out the dowager’s shortcomings, was without words.
Suddenly the duke’s deep voice rumbled through the thick tension.
“I am very sorry for your loss, madam. I wish I could say I knew an Aaron Kitteridge. Unfortunately, I did not. There were too many men on that battlefield, and far too many lost.”
Margery merely nodded as relief flooded her. She should, perhaps, say something kind to the man to relieve what must be a highly uncomfortable, if not outright painful, situation. But in that moment, she was beyond words.
Blessedly Clara spoke then, her gentle voice like a soothing balm. “Have you ever had a chance to visit the Isle, Your Grace?”
“Er, no,” the duke said. “If my mother had not needed this trip, I would not have come. That is,” he continued, coloring, no doubt realizing just how rude he must have sounded, “I would not have thought of visiting. Rather,” he stumbled along, “Lady Tesh has extolled the Isle’s glories over the years, and a more detailed accounting these past months as she attempted to entice us to visit. It sounds like a lovely place.”
As the rest of them jumped in, no doubt just as eager to see the conversation steered to safer waters, Margery took the chance to excuse herself under the pretense of checking with the housekeeper on the state of the rooms that were no doubt being readied. She was to assist the duke in getting about in society, was she? The very idea of being in such forced proximity with him made her nerves feel like tangled threads.
These next weeks would be interesting, indeed.
Chapter 2
Daniel Hayle, Duke of Carlisle, ran a hand over his weary eyes and stared morosely at his reflection. He’d been a fool to think this would work. It had seemed an ideal plan back at Brackley Court. He could accompany his mother to the Isle and see two things accomplished: making sure she began to heal from his brother Nathaniel’s untimely passing three years ago, and to prepare himself for the necessary search for a wife, something he had put off for as long as possible but could ignore no longer. Unfortunately, his long-standing social ineptitude had increased exponentially since his injuries, and so a bit of practice at a less populous locale before tackling London for the first time had seemed ideal.
Now, however…
Blessedly a knock sounded at the door, stopping whatever self-flagellating thoughts had been about to fill his head. Wilkins, his valet, answered it, stepping aside as Daniel’s mother was revealed. She greeted the valet warmly before making her way across the room to Daniel’s side.
“Oh, don’t you look splendid, darling. But I’m about to head down early with the viscountess. She’s told me to inform you she’ll send a maid up to show you the way to the drawing room. You will be fine, won’t you?”
Damnation, she looked exhausted. These past years had been hard on her, first with losing her husband, then with Daniel’s near-death at Waterloo and the months of painful recovery, and finally—and most devastatingly—with Nathaniel’s death a mere year after Daniel’s return home. Surely this trip would be just what she needed.
Yet the pale cast to her skin, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the way her clothing—still the black of mourning—fairly hung off her small frame from the weight she’d lost made him fear that the road to recovery would be a long one, if even feasible. It was quite possible that, given the devastation she’d endured, she might not ever come back from the dark place her mind had sunk to.
But he would not consider that now. He forced a smile as she reached him, trying not to flinch when she kissed his cheek—his good cheek. She knew better than to get near his ruined cheek.
“Of course, I’ll be fine,” he replied, before frowning. “Though are you certain you’re up for a dinner party on your first night here? Mayhap it would be best to take dinner in your room, to rest—”
“You dear thing,” she said with a fond smile. “To worry so for me. But it’s hardly a dinner party. Only the same people we met this morning, each and every one of them Olivia’s relations. But Olivia is waiting on me. I’ll see you downstairs.” Patting his arm, she made her way from the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Daniel pressed his lips tight as he watched her go. If she had thought to reassure him with the fact that only Lady Tesh’s family would be present, she was sorely mistaken. Especially as he was not thrilled about seeing again one particular member of that woman’s family.
He exhaled sharply, the image of Mrs. Kitteridge’s stricken face when she’d first laid eyes on him searing through his brain. That moment, standing before such a lovely woman and seeing just how he affected her, had been torture.
And it had not been only her. Though everyone present in that blasted sitting room had been incredibly polite and welcoming, no matter his awkward blunders, they had nevertheless betrayed their unease with him in small ways, either by openly staring at him or pointedly not looking his way. The very idea of how much worse London would be had him breaking into a cold sweat.
Which was laughable, really. He was a hardened soldier who had never balked at battle. And yet the thought of walking into a London ballroom had him wanting to turn tail and flee. Perhaps if he had been more socially gifted before his injuries he might have been able to pass himself off as dashing in his battle scars, or might have been able to deflect attention from his appearance with a happy, open spirit. But no, he had never been that. And never would be.
He frowned and absently rubbed his thigh, wincing as his fingers found a particularly tender spot in the twisted flesh. The ache in the once-shredded muscles and shattered bone was much worse tonight after the three days’ travel from Brackley Court. And a constant reminder that navigating society and finding a wife who was not put off by his awkwardness, much less disgusted by his appearance, would be no easy feat.
He was luckier than so many others, of course. A quick flash of that young man who’d stepped in front of Daniel’s gun, inadvertently taking a bullet not meant for him and losing his life in the process. He let out a harsh breath, pain flaring in his chest at the memory, the echo of that boy’s death rattle, his cries for his sweetheart, as clear as it had been four short years ago. No, Daniel could not possibly complain about the minor inconvenience of having to find a wife.
“Do you not like any of the pins, Your Grace?”
Wilkins, his valet, peered up at him anxiously, a tray of stickpins held aloft for Daniel’s perusal. Having been valet to Daniel’s older brother, Wilkins had been passed on to Daniel along with the rest of the Carlisle holdings upon Nathaniel’s death.
Daniel would give every bit of it up if he could have his brother back.
He cleared his throat against a sudden thickness. His brother should be here now, looking over the selection of brilliant stones, preparing to descend below and charm everyone with his sparkling humor and devilish good looks. Instead it was Daniel forced to do these things, his too-large form poured into stylish clothes that he abhorred, steeling himself for an evening of stress and strain as he attempted to hide the glaring fact that he had no wish to be here.
He cleared his throat and forced his attention to the tray in the valet’s hands.
